Freaky Friday
by DreamonAlina
Summary: Sherlock and John swap bodies for the day. How are they going to get out of this one? Sherlock/John friendship. Just a little story I wrote for class and wanted to share!


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock!

 **Author's Note** : Hi everybody! This is a fanfic that I wrote for my Fanfiction class in university. I wanted to post it! I apologize if Sherlock and John aren't in character-I tried the best that I could!

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

John Watson wasn't sure how it happened _exactly_.

He wasn't one to believe in magic or fortunes or ghosts, but what other possible explanation was there for waking up in his flatmate's body?

The last thing that John remembered was being extremely cross with Sherlock when he went to bed the night before. Sherlock didn't _mean_ to make it sound like John didn't have the same intellect level that he did, which John knew. But it just got to a point where John got tired of constantly being referred to as "having a brain the size of a walnut" or "having the ability to do something that a duck with no eyes could do" or even "what is it like living inside your funny little brain?".

A lot of talk for a man who, up until a couple years ago, didn't know that the Earth revolved around the sun.

When John woke up that morning, he immediately sensed that something was off. First of all, he wasn't lying in his bed, and he was sure that he had made it to his bed last night. No, he was sprawled out on the couch, and his head felt heavy, almost as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all for the past three days. His stomach grumbled loudly, and the gnawing pain was enough for him to caress his stomach in an attempt to make himself feel better.

He looked down at his hand and was shocked to see a pale hand-even paler than his own-was sitting on his stomach. It took a second for John to register that the hand was his own, and he raised it to his face and twisted it, examining the front and the back of it.

This was _not_ John's hand.

He looked back down and realized that he was not in the nightclothes that he had worn to bed. He wore a grey t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms to bed, but he was now in a pair of pale blue pajamas and a dark blue robe.

 _Something was off_.

John got up and ran to the bathroom. He clumsily flicked on the light, and when he turned to look in the mirror, the face that was looking back wasn't his own.

It was Sherlock's.

John just stood here, dumbfounded. He tilted his head to the side, and Sherlock's face in the mirror did the same thing. He reached up and poked the mirror, as if testing that it was real, and Sherlock in the mirror imitated him. His hands found his head, and instead of feeling his short blond hair, he found himself tangling his fingers in a mop of dark curls.

John took one deep breath. Then another. Then…

He screamed.

Footsteps bounded down the stairs, and John could hear his own voice saying, "Pipe _down_ , will you, John?". The soft padding of John's feet approached the bathroom. "What happened?" the voice asked as the door to the bathroom swung open, and suddenly, John was face to face with his own face.

It took all of two seconds for John to realize that if _he_ was in _Sherlock's_ body, then Sherlock had to be...

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, as if trying to make sense of what was going on, but instead of drawing a sane conclusion, the figure screamed as he pointed at John and covered his mouth with his other hand.

John's response was to scream as well, and there was a soft knock at the door. "You boys all right?" came the gentle voice of their landlady, Mrs. Hudson.

"We're fine, Mrs. Hudson!" John called out, and he cringed when he realized the voice was Sherlock's, not his own.

"Is that you, John?" Sherlock questioned. "It's me, Sherlock."

"I figured out that much for myself," John gruffly responded as he walked out of the now crowded bathroom. Sherlock followed him into the living room, and John turned around to face him. "What the hell happened?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Sherlock asked as he paced.

"'Cause you're Sherlock!" John argued. "If this is one of your messed up experiments-"

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me that you think that I could actually perform a body swap," Sherlock said flatly as he looked down at his hands that were now John's hands.

"This is like that movie," John thought aloud as he bit down on one of Sherlock's fingernails, but he took his hand away from his mouth when he realized that a) it was Sherlock's hand, not his own and b) Sherlock had his nails cut so short there was no nail to _bite_.

"What movie?" Sherlock wondered.

John made a face at him. "You know… that movie with Barbara Harris and Jodie Foster? It was an American movie, but I watched it as a kid. I can't for the life of me remember what it was called, though."

When Sherlock continued to look blankly at John, the latter waved it away. "Forget it."

Sherlock began pacing again, running his hands through his hair and then making a face when he realized that his hair was no longer long. He stopped his pacing and looked up at John. "You're so... _short_. How do you see anything from down here?"

John rolled his eyes. "Now's not the time for that, Sherlock." He looked over at the clock that they had hanging on their wall and cursed under his breath. "I have to be at the clinic in forty-five minutes."

"I have to be down at Scotland Yard in forty-five minutes," Sherlock responded. "I would've left already, but I didn't realize that I was sleeping in your body."

"That explains why my head hurts so much," John stated as he lifted his hand and massaged his temples. "Don't you _ever_ sleep?"

"Nevermind that," Sherlock dismissed. "Do you have any idea how we ended up like this? Do you remember eating or drinking anything funny last night?"

"No," John answered. "We had dinner down at Angelo's, and then we had that argument…" John trailed off at the mention of their argument, and he could've sworn that he saw the tiniest bit of regret on Sherlock's face. Knowing Sherlock, however, John wasn't going to get any form of apology and just moved on instead. "We came home, I went to bed, and that was it. What did _you_ do last night?"

"I was awake for a little while," Sherlock recounted. "I was doing some work in the kitchen, and then I decided to lie down on the couch to think, and that's the last thing that I remember."

"Well, what are we going to do?" John asked as he plopped down on their couch.

"Brain transfer?" Sherlock suggested, but then he shook his head and said, "No, I don't have the tools for that and I can't get them on such short notice." It was like he was talking to himself, like John wasn't there, which was how most of their conversations went, anyway. "Go down to see a doctor?" Sherlock added, but then changed his mind again. "No, you're a doctor, and you don't know what's wrong."

"We could go see… I don't know… like a fortune teller, or something," John offered.

Sherlock scoffed. "Yes, and then we'll go frolic with the bunnies in Hyde Park." He gave his flatmate a look. "Please be serious, John."

John couldn't tell what was more irritating: the fact that Sherlock was still knocking him down, or that the insults were coming from his own voice. John stood up and faced Sherlock. "I don't care what we do, but I have to be at work in…" he glanced at the clock. "Forty minutes, and if I'm late again, I'm going to be fired."

"Alright, go," Sherlock waved him away as he went and sat down at his desk. He automatically hunched over, and then made a face when he realized that he was now too close to the screen, and leaned back a little bit so that he wasn't so close. "I'll stay here until I have to leave and try to figure something out."

"Right," John said slowly. "There's only one problem with that."

Sherlock had his hands pressed together, and the tips of his fingers were touching his lips as he looked over at John. "What?"

John gave him a look of disbelief, and then gestured down to his body. "I'm not exactly John Watson right now."

"Oh! Right," Sherlock realized, and he scratched his head. "I suppose you should stay home, then."

"Didn't you hear me?" John demanded. "I can't stay home! I'll be fired!"

"What's so bad about that?" Sherlock wondered. "Find another job."

"It's not that easy, Mr. 'I Invented My Own Job Because I Think I'm Better Than Everyone Else'," John mocked in Sherlock's deep voice.

Sherlock gave him a glare and said, "Fine!" He shifted his body so that he was facing John. Linking his fingers together, he dropped his hands to his knees. "What do you propose we do, then?"

John's eyebrows scrunched together, and he wordlessly told Sherlock what his plan was. Sherlock's expression changed when he realized what John was proposing, and he made a face that said, "Seriously?"

When John nodded solemnly, Sherlock immediately began shaking his head. "No," he said as he stood up from the chair. "No, no, no, no, no…"

"Come on!" John protested as he ran over to Sherlock, who was now walking away from him and into the kitchen, where he was still chorusing the word, "no". " _I_ need _my_ body to be at the clinic, and you are currently in _my_ body, so I need _you_ to go."

"You are out of your mind," Sherlock told him as he flicked on the kettle.

"We are in each other's bodies, Sherlock," John reminded him. "I'm not the only person out of my mind here."

Sherlock considered what he said for a second, and then said, "It would be ethically wrong. I'm not a doctor."

"But _John Watson_ is!" John retorted. "For all intents and purposes, you _are_ John Watson. Your fingerprints will match John Watson's birth certificate, as will your blood type and your DNA. Besides." He gave Sherlock a look. "This would be an opportunity for you to give advice when it's actually _wanted_."

Sherlock furrowed his brows at John's implication but still shook his head as he grabbed a mug. "I don't know, John…"

"I'm not exactly thrilled about this either, Sherlock," John said. He was suddenly struck with a brilliant but potentially dangerous idea, but he had to convince Sherlock _somehow_. His job was on the line. Taking a deep breath and already regretting it, John offered, "If you go to my job, I'll go to yours."

Sherlock sharply looked over John and actually _laughed_. "As if you could do what I do," Sherlock shook his head as he poured the water into a tea cup. "Don't get me wrong, John, you can do some of the things that I can, but you're nowhere near my level."

"You're acting as if it's easy to be a doctor," John retorted, obviously hurt by the insult Sherlock had given him without realizing that it was an insult.

"If I had a medical license, it would be," Sherlock said as he stirred milk into his tea. He grabbed the cup and walked past John, heading back to the living room.

"Care to put it to the test?" John challenged as he followed after him. "I'll go to Lestrade, you go to the clinic. Then, we'll meet at lunch and try to come up with a new plan because right now, we're not any closer to figuring out what's wrong and _I_ have a job on the line."

John knew Sherlock was cracking, and he finally sealed the deal by saying, " _Please_ , Sherlock. I really need this."

Heaving a deep sigh, Sherlock said, "Fine. Fine, I'll go to the clinic, but you have to stay here. No matter how much Lestrade bothers you, you cannot leave this apartment."

"Why not?" John demanded. "If you get to be me, it's only fair that I get to be you."

"Because it's not easy being me," Sherlock said. "I can't have you doing something that I wouldn't do and then end up having to explain myself when we switch back."

"So this is about your reputation?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you didn't care what other people thought of you."

"I don't," Sherlock confirmed. "I'm just saving myself a future headache."

John rolled his eyes but said, "Fine. I'll stay here."

"Good," Sherlock responded as he stood up. "How long do you work for?"

John paused. "I work at the same time every day, Sherlock. I leave the flat at the same time every day, and I come home at the same time every day."

The expression on Sherlock's face told John that Sherlock probably didn't even notice that John was absent when he wasn't home. To save them time, John told him, "Nine to five."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded. "This should work. We'll meet at Angelo's for lunch at…"

"I have my lunch break at 12:30," John filled in.

"We'll meet at 12:30, then," Sherlock confirmed. "In the meantime, stay here. Don't leave this apartment, don't let anyone in, and don't give anyone the indication that you're me."

"I'm not a four year old child, Sherlock," John said, once again feeling like Sherlock was talking down to him.

"Okay, you text Lestrade and tell him that you're not coming in, and I'm going to go take a shower," Sherlock said, as if he hadn't even heard John. He was about halfway to the bathroom when he looked over his shoulder and asked, "Where do you work?"

Refraining from rolling his eyes again, John gave Sherlock the address. Sherlock stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

John couldn't hear the sound of the cell phone ringing for a minute, but when he felt a vibrating in the pocket of his robe, he pulled the phone out to see that Lestrade was calling him.

No. Lestrade was calling _Sherlock_.

Sherlock didn't say he couldn't answer his phone. Grinning, John pressed the "talk" button and raised the phone to his ear. "Lestrade?" he said in his best Sherlock impression.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Lestrade asked in lieu of a greeting. "You should like someone punched you in the throat."

John winced. The voice was too deep, then. He relieved some of the pressure and tried again, "What do you want?"

"Got a case that's right up your alley, Sherlock," Lestrade greeted. "A woman received a package of human ears. How soon can you get down here?"

"Uhh…" John stuttered, looking back at the bathroom door where Sherlock was now taking a shower. He turned back to his phone call. "I can be down there in ten minutes." He winced again when he realized that Sherlock wouldn't've have agreed so easily. "But I can't stay long. I'm not…" _Think, John, think_! "...feeling very well," he ended lamely.

"Oh," Lestrade said. "I don't see how that's stopped you before, but fine. I'll see you when you get here."

Without saying goodbye, John hung up the phone. He scrunched up his face in regret, realizing that he tipped off to Lestrade that something wasn't right with Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't blame John, though, because he was the one that told John to tell Lestrade that he wasn't feeling well. But now, John had committed to going down to Scotland Yard examining a pair of human ears using Sherlock's skills that John didn't have.

Though the thought annoyed him, maybe Sherlock was right.

Then again, when would he _ever_ get the opportunity again to pretend to be Sherlock Holmes?

* * *

Sherlock Holmes much preferred his all black look, but he knew that John didn't dress like that, and any massive changes in personality or even appearance would make people ask questions that he didn't want to give answers to. So, he put on a white button down, a dark blue jumper, and black dress pants.

 _How did he end up in this mess_? The question replayed in his mind over and over as he fixed John's hair in the mirror, trying to imitate the way that he styled it. He cringed as he straightened the tie underneath the jumper, and once he was satisfied that he looked as John-like as possible, he grabbed his wallet and keys and walked out of John's bedroom.

"Now remember," Sherlock started as he passed John sitting on the couch. "Don't-"

"Leave the flat or let anyone in," John finished. "I got it."

Sherlock nodded. "Right. I'll see you at 12:30," he said, and with that he was out the door.

"Have a good day, John!" Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson say, and he stopped in his tracks as he looked behind him to see if John had followed him. When he saw that he was alone, he looked back over at Mrs. Hudson, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Right!" Sherlock said in what he hoped was his best John impression. "You have a good day too, Mrs. Hudson."

Their landlady smiled at him, but she had a hint of a concerned look on her face as Sherlock walked out the door.

When he got to the clinic, it was 8:55, and he had to run in to make sure that he wasn't late. He made John promise not to do anything that would make people suspicious of him; it only made sense to Sherlock to do the same thing.

"Good morning, John!" a voice greeted, and Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see Sarah, John's on-and-off girlfriend walking over to him. For the life of him, Sherlock couldn't remember if John and Sarah were currently on or not (he was sure that John must've mentioned it at some point but he probably wasn't listening).

His eyes narrowed in on the relaxation of Sarah's shoulders, which told him that she felt calm and casual around John, the naturalness of her smile showed that she wasn't forcing just for the sake of seeing John, and she had positioned her shirt to show just a bit of cleavage as she lifted her weight to one foot, jutting out her hip.

Damn it. They were back on.

"Good morning, Sarah," Sherlock replied slowly, unsure of what else to say. Sherlock couldn't even remember the last conversation that he had with her as himself. One thing was for sure though-he had to get away from her _now_. He gestured behind him where a bunch of doors were. "I should get to work."

Thankfully, Sarah just nodded. "I'll send in your first patient."

"Okay," Sherlock agreed, and he turned around and walked towards the door. There were three of them, side by side, and for a second Sherlock just stood there. It just occurred to him that he had no idea which room was John's exam room. For once in his life, he couldn't use his deduction skills because it really could be any door.

Choosing the one on the far left, Sherlock grabbed the doorknob and stepped inside. The room wasn't that big; it was just large enough for a desk and an examination table, with a bit of space between them. There was a green bulletin board on the wall that was covered with various different papers, and two shelves on the wall beside it that had a stack of medical books on each. There were two posters of skeletons on the wall above the desk: one showed the bones in the skeleton, and the other showed the muscles in the body.

Sherlock cautiously walked in, shutting the door behind him. He shrugged off his coat and draped it across the chair that was at the desk and took a seat.

This was _strange_. He was _Sherlock Holmes_ ; he didn't like feeling out of his element.

That was when his mind reminded him that he _wasn't_ Sherlock Holmes. He was currently John Watson, and he had to go through the morning acting like John Watson did.

The intercom went off, and Sherlock pressed the button. Out came Sarah's staticky voice saying, "First patient is here. Shall I send him in?"

Sherlock drew a deep breath.

The game was on.

* * *

"The game is on, Mrs. Hudson!" John gleefully called out as he bounded down the stairs and out the door as soon as he had seen Sherlock get into a cab.

Sherlock had mentioned that he was supposed to be meeting Lestrade at Scotland Yard, so that was the address that John had given to the cab driver. They drove through the streets of London until the driver came to a stop in front of the station. John paid him, and then got out of the cab. In a perfect imitation of Sherlock, he popped his collar and pushed his coat behind him so that it got caught in the wind. Drawing himself to Sherlock's full height, John shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the building.

The place was abuzz with activity, and John had to sidestep some of the officers that were walking around him. He saw Lestrade standing by one of the desks that was outside of his office, and he looked up when he noticed John walking up to him. "Ah! Sherlock!" He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked to the left of him. "Where's John?"

John followed Lestrade's gaze, and then looked back at the detective inspector. "He's at work. He's got a job of his own, you know. He's not just following Sher- _me_ around all the time," he finished, catching himself at the end there.

Lestrade looked at him funny. "Right," he nodded, but he shook the thought away. He picked up a file from his desk and held it out to John. "Susan Cushing, aged 50, was delivered a cardboard box filled with coarse salt and a pair of human ears."

John took the file from Lestrade and opened it. The first thing that he saw was a picture of the ears. The cuts on the sides suggested that they had been freshly severed, and the blood that was around it suggested that the ears had not come off easy.

"Susan rented rooms in her home to medical students," Lestrade began as he walked around the desk and over to John. "However, she was forced to evict them because of their partying tendencies, and she thinks that it might be them that sent her the ears. The package itself came from Belfast."

John nodded thoughtfully as he continued to look over the notes, and he looked up to see Lestrade was looking at him expectantly. "What?" John asked.

Lestrade lifted his shoulders. "What do you think?"

"Oh!" he said, looking back down at the papers. Normally Sherlock would've already been ranting about something regarding the case, and John would've stood in the back until Sherlock needed him for something. Therefore, John had automatically stepped back and stayed quiet. "Have you had the chance to DNA her yet?"

"Waiting for the reports to come in," Lestrade answered. "It looks like some sort of twisted Van Gogh offering."

John took a closer look at the images. The ears had jagged cuts along where they had been removed from the head, and he frowned at them. "You said Susan thinks it was medical students who did this?"

When Lestrade nodded, John shook his head and looked back down at the images. "This was no medical student."

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked, looking at the images over John's shoulder.

John pointed at the cuts. "Look at that hack job. No self-respecting medical student would make a cut like that. And you said that they were preserved in coarse salt?" With another nod from Lestrade, John continued. "Medical students have access to a dissection lab. They would use something else other than coarse salt to put the ears in."

He held the folder out more so that Lestrade could see it better. "One ear is smaller than the other. It suggests that the ears are not actually a pair, but belong to two different people."

"A double murder?" Lestrade wondered.

They were interrupted by one of the other officers strolling up to the two of them. "Detective Inspector, we have the DNA of the ears." He held out the folder to them.

John grabbed them before Lestrade could have the chance, thinking that it would be something that Sherlock would do. He opened the folder, and at the top were two names.

Mary Cushing and Alec Fairbairn.

* * *

The door opened, revealing the next patient. Sherlock's eyes immediately honed in on the small tissue packet that was tucked into her sleeve, the redness surrounding her nose, and the laboured breathing of the patient. Before the woman even had the chance to sit down on the examination table, Sherlock reached for the prescription pad. "It's a case of the common flu. Drink fluids, get rest, and take an Nurofen cold and flu pill every eight hours as prescribed on the bottle." He scribbled down on the prescription pad, making sure to sign the name "JOHN WATSON" (the first time Sherlock had written a prescription, he had written his own signature and had almost given it to the patient before he realized his error) and held it out to the woman. "Next!" he called out.

The door opened, and Sarah poked her head through the door. "There's no one left, John," she told him, walking into the room and shutting the door behind her. "You were on fire today! The whole waiting room's empty. I have never seen you go through patients so fast."

It wasn't that hard, really. Diagnosing people was the same as deducing them. Therefore, he had no problem at all dealing with the patients, his average being one patient every five minutes.

Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it was already almost half past noon. Time had passed by so quickly while he was examining the patients, but he hadn't even noticed. "I have to go. I'm going for lunch," he told her, getting up from his chair.

"Great!" Sarah exclaimed, walking up to him and grabbing the knot in his tie. She pulled Sherlock closer to her as she said, "I'll be happy to join you."

Sherlock chuckled nervously as he took Sarah's hands off of his tie. "As much as I'd...love that," he choked out. "I can't."

Sarah moved her hands from his tie to his waist, and Sherlock tried his best not to squirm. "Are you saying you'd actually rather be somewhere that I'm not?" She leaned closer, and Sherlock had to refrain from leaving backwards. "We're all alone here. It's just the two of us…" she trailed off.

When her lips came too close to Sherlock, he pushed her away from him and ducked to the side. He grabbed onto the chair and used it to support himself as he turned around. Sarah was staring at him with a concerned expression on her face. "I'm actually meeting Sherlock for lunch," he said, with the best apologetic look on his face that he could muster. "I have to go before I'm late."

She pouted. "Can't you blow him off? You've done it before."

"I've _what_?" Sherlock spluttered, the words coming out before he could stop them. His mind immediately began searching for the moments where John was supposed to be meet Sherlock somewhere, but then Sherlock would get a call from John saying that "something came up" or "I've got to stay late". It didn't even occur to Sherlock that John was just making up an excuse not to see him so he could go out with Sarah.

He quickly composed himself at the look on Sarah's face. "I-I mean, I really can't today." He grabbed his coat from the chair and pulled it on. "There's something important going on."

"Everything's important to Sherlock," Sarah pointed out as Sherlock grabbed the doorknob.

"Yes, well, that's because everyone else is insignificant," Sherlock blurted, and at Sarah's flinch, he realized too late that that wasn't something that John would've said. No, that sentence was distinctly _Sherlock_.

Sarah's face contorted into one of offence, but Sherlock figured that he already blew it, so he might as well run with it. "I've got to go. I'll be see you later," he said as he opened the door and walked out.

* * *

John hadn't even noticed when 12:30 had crept by, and he would've missed his appointment with Sherlock if he hadn't set an alarm earlier in the day so that he _wouldn't_ forget. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned the alarm off. "I have to go," John announced, and he turned around and left before Lestrade or anybody else had the chance to ask why or where he was going.

Once they had discovered that the ears belong to Mary Cushing and Alec Fairbairn, they went to go see Susan and tell her that the ears actually belonged to her sister. She had wailed and cried so hard that they decided to come back later and question her, leaving her alone in her grief. They then went and told Alec Fairbairn's family about what happened to him, and they were much more composed and were able to offer more information for them.

John had tucked the case file into his coat so that he could show it to Sherlock and get some sort of idea of what had happened. When he walked into Angelo's, he immediately began scanning the crowd for Sherlock. His eyes landed on himself, and that was when he remembered that he was still in Sherlock's body. John shook off the shock as he went over to where Sherlock was sitting.

"Hi," he greeted as he sat across from him.

Sherlock looked up and frowned. "You left the flat."

John's heart pounded, but he tried to keep his composure. "Of course I did. How else was I supposed to get here?"

"No, I mean that you left the flat after I left this morning," he clarified. "It was raining when I left, and your coat is wet but not fully dry, and it's not raining outside right now. You left the flat after I did. Where did you go?"

Realizing that he wasn't going to convince Sherlock otherwise, John sighed. "Lestrade called-"

"And you went?!" Sherlock boomed, and John had to gesture for him to keep his voice down. Sherlock rolled his eyes but lowered his voice. "I told you specifically not to leave the flat!"

"Lestrade needed me-he needed _you_ ," John corrected. "And I couldn't say no! Since when do you say 'no' to a case?"

"When it's not a six," Sherlock responded. "What was the case, anyways?"

John reached into his coat and pulled out the file. He held it out to Sherlock. "A pair of ears were delivered to a woman named Susan Cushing."

Sherlock gave John a look of disbelief. "You left the flat for _ears_?"

"Ears that belong to two different people," John filled in. "Mary Cushing, Susan's sister, and Alec Fairbairn."

"Two different people?" Sherlock repeated, his interest now peaked. "Have you spoken to Susan Cushing?"

"We tried, but she was crying too much for us to ask questions," John said.

Sherlock scoffed. "Crying," he mocked.

"Sherlock, her sister was murdered," John reminded him solemnly.

Before Sherlock could respond, Angelo strolled up to their table, and the two were forced to relax. Angelo grinned at them as he wiped down their table. "What'll it be, Sherlock?" he asked.

John sat up straighter when he realized that Angelo wasn't looking at _him_ , but Sherlock. As in _Sherlock_ in _John's body_.

Sherlock had the same look on his face as he looked up at Angelo. "No, Angelo, I'm John," he automatically said, trying not to raise suspicion despite the panic that was rising.

"No, Sherlock, you're Sherlock," Angelo said slowly, and then he looked over at John. "And you're John. Haven't you two figured it out yet?"

"Wait, _you_ know?" John blurted. "How?"

"Because he's the one who did it," Sherlock answered for him, and the look on Angelo's face was all the confirmation that either of them needed. "Why?" Sherlock asked.

Angelo shook his head. "Because you two might be friends, but there's still a lot of things that you two need to learn about each other." He tossed his towel over his shoulder, nodded at the two men, and then left their table.

"Wait!" Sherlock called out, and they both leapt to their feet and ran after him, but when they got to the kitchen where he had walked into, Angelo was gone. Dejected, the two left the restaurant, Sherlock still flipping through the case file.

"What does he mean, there's still a lot of things that we need to learn about each other?" John wondered as they stepped outside.

"Hmm?" Sherlock muttered, not taking his eyes off of the file.

"Hello? Sherlock?" John said, waving his hand in front of his face. He didn't respond, so John dropped his hand. "We're still stuck in each other's bodies. Angelo is responsible, and he's not telling us why. Don't you care?"

Sherlock finally looked up from the folder and looked over at John. "We should go speak to Susan Cushing."

John's jaw dropped. " _What_? Sherlock, Angelo just told us that he body swapped us, and all you're thinking about is the _case_?"

"This body swapping is something that I cannot figure out right now," Sherlock informed him as he walked over to the street and raised a hand. "Taxi!" he called out, and an empty cab slowed to a stop beside him. "This murder case, I _can_ solve." He grabbed the door and nodded his head to John. "Are you coming?"

* * *

"I have said to the men down at the Yard many times," Susan Cushing started as she looked at Sherlock and John, who were sitting across from her on the couch. "I don't think this parcel was meant for me. I do not have any enemies! Why would someone play a trick like this?"

Sherlock was silent as he stared down at Susan, who was starting to get a weirded out look on her face. John jumped in to dispel the awkward silence. "We think the same, Ms. Cushing."

"You have two sisters," Sherlock suddenly said, and Susan and John looked over at Sherlock in surprise.

"How do you know that?" she wondered.

"Well, one sister is the victim," Sherlock started. "There's a photo above your mantle of three women. One of the women looks exactly like you, and the other two look similar to you. There's no doubt the relationship between you three. Sisters."

"Ahh, yes," she finally nodded, though she still looked a little concerned. "Mary is the one on the left, and Sarah is the one in the middle. I'm on the right."

Sherlock picked up a picture frame that was on the table next to his arm and turned it around so that John and Susan could see it. "This photo, taken at Liverpool, is of your younger sister with a man-probably a steward, based on the uniform. They are standing very close to each other, but the absence of a ring on her finger says that she's unmarried."

For obvious reasons, John thought that hearing all of that deduction language that Sherlock was fluent in coming out of his own voice was _weird_. The words sounded funny coming out of John's mouth, which made John feel even worse.

"That's very impressive, Dr. Watson," Susan said enthusiastically, and John had to physically refrain from rolling his eyes.

"It is my-" Sherlock cut himself off, realizing that it wasn't _John's_ job. John's job was being a doctor, not a consulting detective. He cleared his throat and said, "It is something that I enjoy doing with Sherlock Holmes," with a nod at John.

"You are right, either way," she told them, an air of unpleasantness in her tone. "She married Jim Browner-the man in the photo-shortly afterwards. He's a steward on the British Airways."

"You speak of him with bitterness, Ms. Cushing," John spoke up, causing Sherlock and Susan to look at him. John flushed at the attention on him, and then asked, "Why?"

Susan huffed. "He's a drinker. He promised Mary time and again that he would give up, but every time he landed he would go straight for the bar. I have not spoken to him in a long time, since before he and Sarah got into a fight, and I haven't heard from Mary in a long time."

"Why did he fight with Sarah?" Sherlock wondered.

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me the reason." Susan shook her head. "It's awfully strange, though. The two were the best of friends before. Sarah had fallen on some hard times, and she went to stay with Mary for a little while, because I couldn't keep her. She is my sister and I love her, but my word, she has a temper unlike any I've ever known."

"You haven't lived with Sherlock Holmes, then," John muttered under his breath, and Sherlock gave him a look of annoyance.

Susan hadn't noticed though; she just continued with her story. "She went to stay with Mary for a little while. When she returned, she finally convinced me to let her stay with me for a bit until she could find her own home, and all she did was complain about Jim's drinking habits. I tried asking her if something happened, but I received no answer. I think Jim must've put her in her place and she didn't like it."

"Mmm," Sherlock nodded, and then he abruptly stood up. John and Susan then got to their own feet and Sherlock dipped his head at Susan. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Cushing. I am sure we will find the man responsible for the murder of your sister."

* * *

"You said 'man'," John commented as they walked down the street to hail a cab. "How do you know it was a man?"

Sherlock gave John a look. "It wasn't obvious?"

John raised a hand when a cab drove past them, and it came to a stop as Sherlock said, "Three sisters. One married and living with her husband, two unmarried. Susan and Sarah Cushing both have the same initials; if it weren't for Susan, it could only be for Sarah.

"Susan said that Sarah had lived with her after she came back from Mary's," Sherlock continued once they had gotten into the cab and it was cruising down the streets of London. "So her address, until recently, has been the same. Same address, two different Ms. S. Cushings. It's obvious how the mistake can be made."

He went on. "Sarah went to stay with Mary for a bit, got into an argument with her brother-in-law, and then stopped speaking him with. As a result, if Browner had an occasion to send her a parcel, it would be to her old address."

"Wait, _Browner_?" John repeated. "As in Jim Browner, the brother-in-law?"

Sherlock blinked at John. "God, it _is_ strange to hear that surprise in my voice," he said. "I've never been surprised before. Is that what I sound like?"

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, the brother-in-law, remember?"

"Oh, right," Sherlock shook his head free of the thoughts. "An alcoholic steward who separated his wife from her two sisters-he's going to be a violent man," he began. "It is suspected that his wife has been murdered-Mary Cushing is reported missing by her friends and then only her ear is discovered, which doesn't give much hope that she's still alive-along with Alec Fairbairn, the other man whose ear was found with Mary's. Therefore, the only assumption that can be made is that Alec is dead as well."

"You think Jim did it out of jealousy?" John thought aloud.

"Alcoholic man who is isolating his wife from her family?" Sherlock nodded. "Of course it was jealousy. But now, the question is, why would a package of evidence of the deed be sent to Sarah Cushing?"

It dawned on John, and the nod of approval that he got from Sherlock told him that he was right. "Sarah had something to do with it," John said. "But I don't see her murdering her sister and her sister's lover. I thought you said Jim did that."

"Oh, yes, Jim was definitely the murderer," Sherlock agreed as the cab came to a screeching halt, narrowly avoiding running a stop light. "The package came from Belfast. Mary and Alec probably went there for a little holiday, and when Jim landed in Belfast and found them, he killed them and then sent the ears to Sarah."

"Still not seeing how Sarah is involved."

"Neither do I," Sherlock responded, which surprised John. "But we'll know once we tell Lestrade to arrest him."

They came to a stop in front of Scotland Yard, and they paid the cabbie before getting out. Sherlock walked a little bit in front of John as they went into the building.

"Ah! John!" Lestrade greeted when he saw them coming in. "Good to see you. Sherlock said you were at work."

Sherlock looked over at John, who then looked away from him. "I'm on my lunch break," Sherlock answered. "Anyways, arrest Jim Browner, Mary's husband. He's the one responsible for her and Alec Fairbairn's ears."

"What?" Lestrade fumbled, stumbling a bit. "How do you know?"

"We just spoke to Susan," John threw in. "I questioned her, and that's when I figured out that it was Jim Browner."

Sherlock gave John a sharp look, and John knew that he wanted to say something about John taking the credit for the solving of the murder. John, however, continued to avoid his gaze as Lestrade grabbed his coat. "Alright. But I'm trusting you, Sherlock," he said, pointing to John as he walked past the two of them.

"Oh, and Lestrade?" John called after him, and he turned around to look at him. "Don't put my name on this. This was barely a three."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at him but walked away, leaving Sherlock and John standing there, still not quite looking at each other.

* * *

It was a quiet ride home, but once they got back to their flat, Sherlock finally blew up. "Why did you say that you were the one that figured out that it was Jim Browner that killed Mary and Alec?"

"Because it _was_ me," John responded as he peeled his coat off and hung it on their coat rack. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, remember? We've got to keep up pretenses."

"What, so I'm just your sidekick?" Sherlock demanded, holding his hands out to his side. "Someone that you think you can just ditch because you'd rather be with your girlfriend than an annoying old chap like me?"

John paused on his way to the kitchen, and he slowly turned around to face Sherlock. "What-?"

"Sarah told me," he spat. "How often you blow me off so you can go out with her."

John sighed, and he stepped towards him. "Sherlock-"

"No, I understand!" he scowled as he sat down in his chair. "I'm just your friend. Why would you want to spend time with me?"

John couldn't help the scoff of disbelief that erupted out of his chest. "Some _friend_! You treat me like the dirt beneath your shoes, you undermine my intelligence, and you make me feel worthless."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, as if John's words had physically struck him. "That is not true."

"You want to talk about being a _sidekick_ , Sherlock?" John continued, as if Sherlock hadn't said anything. "I was at Scotland Yard today, and I realized that I automatically treat myself like your sidekick because I'm used to you going off on tangents and then being disappointed when I don't follow. When I was investigating with Lestrade today, I felt... _excited_ , because for the first time, my ideas weren't getting rejected as if they were ideas of a six year old."

John huffed, struggling to catch his breath. He hadn't realized that he had been talking for so long without taking a breath.

Sherlock was quiet again, and John's mind immediately went back to when they were in Angelo's the night before, when they had their argument.

They were discussing a case they had recently solved, and when John remarked that he genuinely thought it had been the first suspect, Sherlock roughly shot him down and insulted him. John _knew_ that Sherlock hadn't mean it the way that he took it, but John was tired of the insults. He knew that insults were the way that Sherlock communicated, but damn, it made him realized that insults _weren't_ compliments. They were just _insults_.

But the look on Sherlock's face was the same as when John had gotten up from the table in the restaurant and walked right out. He had felt bad for ignoring Sherlock's confused calls of his name, but he kept walking. He had regretted it.

"I'm… sorry, John," Sherlock told him. "I had no idea that was how you felt."

"That's because you don't understand other people's feelings," John said. He looked down at his toes as he added, "But I should've told you that it bothered me."

"I don't _mean_ to make it sound like I'm targeting you," Sherlock offered. "It's just… everyone's stupid." At the look on John's face, Sherlock immediately backtracked. "Not that I mean it in a bad way when it comes to you, I-"

"I get it, Sherlock," John assured him, and Sherlock visibly relaxed.

John took a seat on the couch, and Sherlock got up from his chair and sat next to him. The two friends sat in silence for a while. Then, Sherlock spoke up. "You _do_ know that I value you, don't you?"

"I do."

"I don't think you do," Sherlock insisted. "As I've said to you before, John, I don't have friends. I really only have _you_. So the thought that I've upset you somehow…" He paused. "I won't know that I've upset you unless you tell me. Once you've told me, I can do something about it. Well, I can _think_ about doing something about it."

John chuckled. "Alright."

It was quiet again, but then John said, "You know I've always found your skills to be impressive, don't you?"

"I can hardly forget the second day that we met. You wouldn't stop saying I was amazing. It was annoying."

"I meant what I said," John defended. "When I went to Scotland Yard to pretend to be you, I thought I'd be able to use your skills, and see what it was really like to be you. You're always so moody and broody, I figured there had to be a _reason_ for it, or at least some driving force. Turns out you took them with you when we body swapped."

"And thank goodness for that. I don't know how I would've coped without them," Sherlock commented.

Sherlock's words made them both laugh, and once they had finally stopped, John asked, "So, how do we get out of this mess?"

"Angelo said that we had to figure out some things about each other," Sherlock replied. He looked over at John and gave him a hesitant smile. "But I'd say we have each other figured out pretty well."

"But how do we switch back?" John wondered. "As...interesting as it is to be you, I'd rather be me."

"I'd rather you be you as well," Sherlock gruffed. "Your girlfriend threw herself all over me. Do you two really fool around at work?"

John shrugged. "When it's slow."

Sherlock had to refrain from shuddering. "Well, I suppose we'll have to wait until tomorrow and figure something out then."

"Sherlock?" John said suddenly.

"John?" Sherlock responded.

"You might be an insulting oblivious person, but you're a good friend."

"Thank you, John. I might not be able to understand your feelings all the time, but I want to. You're a good friend as well."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Do you want to go get some lunch? I'm starving."

"Let's do it."

* * *

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, he expected to be in John's bed. That was, after all, where he had fallen asleep the night before. He and John and spent the night talking and eating before finally retiring to their bedrooms, but they both decided that it would be better to sleep in the bed of the body that they were occupying.

However, when he opened his eyes, he was staring at the ceiling in his own bedroom. His eyes widened, and he shot up in bed. Looking down at his hands, he felt a small rise of hope when he recognized his own hands. He reached up and patted his head, the curls flopping as he did so. To confirm it, Sherlock got out of bed and ran to the mirror that was in his room. Staring back at him was his own face. He reached up and poked his cheek to make sure that he was there, and when he felt his finger touch his cheek, he knew he was back.

But... maybe he never left it. He woke up in his own bed, in his own body. He tried to think of what happened the day before, but he found his mind coming up with a blank, which was strange for him. Perhaps...perhaps everything that happened was all a _dream_.

That was it. That was the only explanation. Of _course_ it was a dream. There was no such thing as body swaps. The calendar on his desk read _Saturday_ , declaring the start of a new day.

"I had the strangest dream last night," John greeted as Sherlock walked into the living room. John had obviously woken up first, which was evidenced by the fact that the kettle in their kitchen had been boiling for a while. John had stepped outside, and he walked back in a few second after. He shut the front door behind him and tossed the newspaper onto the table in front of the couch.

"So did I," Sherlock responded as he grabbed the newspaper.

"You were in it," John started as he poured two cups of tea. "And so was Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and Angelo, and there was a murder case…"

Sherlock had stopped listening to John as his eyes read the story on the front page.

John walked over to Sherlock, two mugs of tea in hand, and stopped when he saw Sherlock go completely still. "Sherlock?" he frowned. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock simply turned the newspaper around so that John could read the front page.

 **THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX!**

 **10th February 2018**

 **Jim Browner has been charged with the murder of his wife Mary Cushing and Alec Fairbairn.**

 **Thanks to the intervention of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, the police were able to determine that a parcel of human ears that Susan Cushing had received belonged to Mary Cushing and Alec Fairbairn.**

 **According to the police, Mary Cushing was having an affair with Alec Fairbairn, which lead to her husband's jealous murder of the two.**

 **However, according to Browner, it was the jealousy of Mary's sister Sarah that caused the grisly murders to occur in the first place.**

 **Again, according to Browner, Sarah was so deeply in love with him that when she tried to seduce him and he rejected her, she tricked her sister into hating her husband in a bid to destroy their marriage. " I can see now how she was poisoning Mary's mind against me," Browner said in a statement. "But at the time I was blind. I couldn't see it."**

 **Fairbairn entered the Browner-Cushing household as a friend, but then Browner began suspecting the two. As reported by Browner, he told Sarah that if Fairbairn ever entered their house again, he would "send her one of his ears as a keepsake".**

 **Browner has confessed to attacking Mary and Alec when he saw the two of them together again in Belfast, cutting off one ear from each of them, and then dumping their bodies in a river. Before getting back on the plane where he worked as a steward to return to London, he sent a package with the ears of Cushing and Fairbairn to Sarah Cushing. The package ended up in the hands of her sister Susan Cushing, who notified the police.**

 **The case was then brought to the attention of consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, who have become famous for solving cases. However, those who interacted with Holmes and Watson that Friday have confessed that they were both acting "strangely" and "not like themselves". A source even went so far as to suggest that it was like the two had "switched personalities for the day".**

 **Be that as it may, in the end, it was Holmes and Watson who discovered that it was Jim Browner who committed this heinous crime.**

 **The police have both Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson to thank for solving this crime.**

 **The world cannot wait to see what these two have in store for us next!**


End file.
